


Five Times the Christmas Cheer

by LizaCameron



Series: Seven Days Series [12]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Family, Fluff and Humor, Holiday, Liza's Josh/Donna Seven Days Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2019-05-30 13:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15097910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizaCameron/pseuds/LizaCameron
Summary: 5th Installment of the Seven Days One Winter Series. It's Christmas Day in Wisconsin. Josh, Donna, Grandma Moss and the rest of the family celebrate... together. Follows Four Ginger People.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

"Wake up!"

"Mmmm… mmmph." Am I dreaming? Because I think I hear Donna's voice.

"Joooooosh, wake up." 

"Mmmph…" I must be dreaming, because I could swear that Donna is leaning over me, shaking me gently, telling me to wake up. Usually when Donna wakes me up it's over the phone, so if she's here with me, I must be dreaming. I've had many dreams about Donna. Many, many dreams. But she's usually not trying this hard to wake me up. Dream Donna likes me when I'm… you know… dreaming. Dream Donna also tends to get a little randy, if you know what I mean. But don't tell real Donna that.

I crack open one eye in order to figure out what the ruckus is and it becomes apparent that I'm not dreaming. Nope, definitely not dreaming. There is a real live Donna draped across me, and she is shaking me and telling me to wake up. Frankly, this is a whole lot better than a dream. Or a phone call. I'm waking up with Donna for the first time. The night before last didn't count because we didn't actually sleep. But don't get me wrong, that was good, too. Reeeeally good.

It doesn't take me long to decide that the best part about waking up with Donna is the nakedness. I love that we're both naked. Well, mostly I love that she's naked. To prove that this is the best part, I tap previously unknown energy reserves and flip us over so that she's on her back and I'm on top.

She lets out a surprised whimper and then a small giggle, followed by a moan that, if you listen carefully and shake the sleep from your mind, sounds vaguely similar to words. "So you were awake, I thought you might have been playing possum."

As the moan/words register, it gets me to remove my lips from her neck. "Possum?"

"Yup, you big pretender." I force my eyes all the way open in order to look at her, but unfortunately, they catch the bedside clock radio. I'm shocked into alertness. Well, more alert than I already was with a naked Donna under me. Which, let's face it; I was well on my way to a fully alert state. 

Why is Donna waking me up at 5am? Aren't we on vacation? Not that I'm upset with our current positions, but still, five in the morning! "Um, Donnatella?"

"Yes, Joshua."

"Why in the name of cheese have you woken me at five o'clock in the morning?" 

"It's actually 5:55am—which is practically six-- and why cheese?" She smiles widely up at me and it hits in two places-- my heart and my groin. And it compels me to kiss her. 

"Because cheese is sacred to your people," I respond when I finally pull my lips from hers, though I really have no idea what I’m talking about. It's early and there's a lot of nakedness happening, which tends to cloud my mind. Donna and I have only been doing the naked thing for about 48 hours now, so mind-cloudiness is permissible. By now my eyes are completely focused and I see her roll hers at me. She shouldn't roll her eyes at me; she's the one who got me up at five! Don't talk to me about 5:55, it's still in the five o'clock hour. "Donna… five in the morning! Why?" 

"Five times the Christmas Cheer at five in the morning?" She tries. Now she's just grabbing at straws.

Propped above her, I shake my head and grump, "There is no such thing as cheer this early in the morning."

I see her sigh theatrically. "It's just time to get up, Josh." 

"I thought we were on vacation and that meant we could sleep in? If this is how you vacation, we’re going to have to have a serious talk about relaxation. Let me show you..." With that, I find her lips again and then start trailing soft kisses down her jaw.

"It's Christmas!" She says the word with such glee and excitement and it hits me that she's not nearly as affected by having a naked Josh on top of her as I am having a naked Donna under me. I'll never understand women.

"So?" It's become apparent that the alertness is going to have to wait. I roll off of her and prop my head up by my elbow. "Is there some gentile law that says you can't sleep in on a High Holy Day?" 

"High Holy Day?" She smiles again. I have very little resistance to that smile.

"Or whatever you call them."

"Last night was Christmas Eve." She emphasizes the eve part with zeal.

"Yes… the eve usually precedes the day. It's customary."

"No… you know what happens on Christmas Eve?"

She has such child-like enthusiasm that I can't help but tease, "Let's see, I take a flight at an unearthly hour to the land of cheese, only to be pleasantly surprised by Mom at the airport. I decorate cookies-"

"And gain two more young members for your fan club," Donna adds helpfully.

I nod in agreement before continuing, "I meet practically every living relative you have-"

"Not by a long shot, but continue." How damn many relatives could she possibly have?

"Get hazed by your father and your grandmother-"

"Grandma wasn't hazing you… that's just her. She likes you."

"But your dad?" Even to my own ears I sound a bit insecure, which is as shocking to me as it is to you. But I want her family to like me, which says a lot. In the past, I never spared a thought for what a woman's family might think of me. It's also of note that I cared what Donna's family thought of me before we became an official couple. 

Yeah, I was really stupid… for a really long time. 

"Yes, he was hazing you, but he gave you a beer… I *think* he likes you, too." The way she just said 'think' is not exactly reassuring. Especially when she adds, "He likes your mom, anyway."

I stare down at her in disbelief until she pats my arm in what I'm sure is supposed to be a reassuring gesture. "I'm sure he likes you."

I still don't believe her, so I do what I do best-- formulate a position. "I went to a show about Jesus and wore Kermit the Frog pajamas!"

"That's why I should like you, not my dad," she states pragmatically. Hmph. She sort of has a point, not that it's going to stop me.

"No, your dad should like me for those reasons because it shows the lengths I'm willing to go to make you happy." There. I'm not where I am professionally for nothing. 

"Lengths?" She gurgles with laugher as she says the word. "Josh, I appreciate you standing in a church watching a play for half an hour, but it's not like you walked over burning coals."

"What about the pajamas?!" I can't believe she's not giving me proper credit for my sacrifices. I was sort of banking on riding the wave of goodwill from all of this for… six or seven years, at least.

"You wore them for less than ten minutes last night." But she leans up and kisses my nose. She probably thinks that lessens the sting of her words. It does a little, but I don't let it show.

"And whose fault was that?" My tone is obvious. It was clearly her fault.

"Yours." 

"What?!" How did she not read my tone, signifying that she should accept blame? "I have full recollection of the events of last night. And the recollection is of the speed with which you tore them off of me."

She blushes hotly, but changes the subject, another clear indication I was right. "That was a lovely rundown of our day yesterday, but none of that is what I was talking about."

"Okay, what were you talking about?" I have no recall of why we started down that conversational path; I'm lying next to a naked Donna, remember?

"Do you know what happens on Christmas Eve?" Right. Christmas Eve. It's early. She woke me up. And she's back to her childlike enthusiasm. I really love that about her.

"Usually I'm working and ordering Chinese so I'm not sure-"

"Santa Claus comes!"

I look at her with a cocked eyebrow and ask incredulously, "Santa Claus came to this house last night?"

"Of course." She rolls her eyes in a way I'm very familiar with. It's the 'don't mind my boss, he's crazy' look. But I guess now it's a 'don't mind my boyfriend, he's crazy' look. I like it better now that it's the latter. 

"Why does this mean we have to get up at five?"

"5:55. Josh, I know Christmas is not your holiday, but you must know that after Santa Claus comes, we open presents." Donna sits up and starts climbing out of bed. She's not joking.

"Seriously?"

"Yes." 

"We're going to open presents at five in the morning?" 

"They've probably already started." She tosses my Kermit pajamas at me and they land on my face. 

I pull them off and look from the kind face of one scrawny green Muppet back up to Donna; he really does remind me of her. Don't worry I didn't say that out loud, instead I groan, "I have to wear these?"

"Definitely."

***

"You lied to me."

"What?" I really did tell a whopper. 

"There's no one else down here."

"I know."

"Where are they?"

"Mmmm… let's see, the Moss Family Pajama Pancake Breakfast is at around 8:30 and then we open presents."

"So what you're saying is that we open presents *after* pancakes?" He looks confused, like he's struggling to figure out what's going on, I'm anticipating a little annoyance once he figures it out. After all I did wake him up before six in the morning. But I was awake. And he was so dang cute lying there next to me, naked. Did I mention how much I liked waking up in his arms this morning? 

I nod my head with a mischievous glint and wait for it.

"And pancake pajamas aren't until 8:30?"

I shrug and try to look innocent. "Nine o'clock really."

"Nine!" His voice is almost a shriek.

"Shhh." I put the fingers of one hand over his lips. "You're going to wake the whole house."

"Yes, because they're still sleeping until 8:30 or 9. Why aren't we still sleeping too?" He hisses. And it's pretty adorable.

"Because they were up late?"

"We were up late!"

"Nah, we were in bed by midnight. They were probably up till 2 or 3 in the morning."

He just stares at me in disbelief before asking again, "Why did you wake me again?"  
I shrug and try to look innocent. "Because like all kids on Christmas morning, I couldn't wait for you to wake up and play with me. Santa Claus came after all…"

And that got him. Josh is shaking his head at me, but I can see him trying hard not to smile. "You know, I would be mad that you blatantly lied to me, but you're just so darn cute in your Miss Piggy jammies."

With a glance down I check out my attire. It's true; I am wearing Miss Piggy pajamas. I may have commissioned Suzie from Political Affairs’ mother to make me a pair, too. I meet his eye with a cocky expression. "I am, aren't I?"

Josh nods in agreement as I add coyly, "But not as cute as you are in your Kermit jammies."

"Well, that goes without saying." 

Now he's the cocky one. He's going to have to learn that being in a relationship means that he doesn't agree with me in that situation. In order to teach him this paramount coupledom tenet, I lunge at him playfully. The next thing I know, I've tackled him flat on his back and I’m sprawled on top of him. Josh adjusts to this situation quickly and in no time at all his hands are tangled in my hair and his lips are on mine. The kissing is pretty amazing and it distracts me to the point of barely noticing that he's rolled us so I'm on my back and he's on top. After several minutes of really good making out, he pulls back and brushes a strand of hair away from my ear. My breath catches when he looks at me like this. It's with such intensity and desire he could probably ask me to do anything in the world and I'd do it. Put me on sentry, fine. Forgo shopping during the busy Christmas season because he wants nothing to do with a crowded mall? No problem, I can shop on the internet. Rob a bank? Hand me an old pair of panty hose and a grappling hook. 

I'd do anything… uh… except what he apparently wants me to do now! He's no longer gazing at me intently, now he's kissing his way down my jaw and I can feel him shift suggestively on top of me. He's not suggesting we do… that? Is he? "Stop!" I hiss.

"What?" he pants as he leans back slightly.

"What are you doing!? We can't do THAT down here under the Christmas tree on Christmas!"

"Technically, it's beside the Christmas tree. There are far too many presents shoved under there for us to, you know." He murmurs all of this into my collar bone, before he once again starts pressing his lips to my skin in the most delicious way. Before I know it he's got the top two Miss Piggy buttons undone.

"Not the point." I interrupt him, reluctantly, because as I've said his lips are really talented. They should have professional representation. Are there agents for that kind of thing? Not that his lips are going to be available to do this to anybody but yours truly. Or they better not be. It's too early to talk about commitment… isn't it? The funny thing is it doesn't seem too soon. I feel like I know that I want his lips to be doing this to me for the rest of my life and I think he feels the same way. After all, we did talk about having mini-ginger people last night. That's as big a commitment as they come.

Uh oh… he's stopped kissing me. Why has he stopped kissing me? Oh, because he's talking, but I have no idea what he just said. I open my eyes and look up at him. "What did you say?"

"Isn't this why we're here?" He repeats, sounding confused.

I crinkle my brow. "You think we came to Madison so we can conjugate in my parent's living room while the rest of the house sleeps off the eggnog from last night?"

"No… I thought that you dragged me out of bed at this unseemly early hour under false pretenses so that we could do it next to the Christmas tree in your parents' living room while the rest of the house sleeps off the eggnog from last night."

"I did not!" I cry indignantly. How could he think I would plan such a thing? Although, I must admit it's pretty romantic with the lights of the Christmas tree illuminating the dark room. And his weight is still on top of me and not he's giving me the intense desire-filled look again… maybe we could just… No! See how that look turns my brain to mush? I sit up slightly and he senses the change and shifts his weight off of me and we both, grudgingly, push to a sitting position. 

"Then why did you wake me up from a sound sleep? I need sleep. You're younger than I am and, quite frankly, a firebrand in bed… I need my rest if I'm going to continue to live up to your expectations."

Now I'm simultaneously blushing and rolling my eyes. Blushing because of the firebrand comment and rolling my eyes at his need of sleep. The man has never needed much sleep to function at the highest level. His stamina should be studied by academics and other …smart people who study things.

But first things first. "I'm a firebrand in bed?"

Uh oh. He's starting to look a little cocky and the sex glint is back in his eye. This is the glint that I've discovered appears when he wants me in that instant. Funny, I used to see this glint even before we started our thing. Now he's crawling towards me. With one hand, I reach out and place my palm on his chest in order to thwart his progress. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your beauty rest…" Now he's rolling his eyes. "And your perverted desire to do it next to the Christmas Tree— I won't even mention the fact my impressionable young nieces are just down those stairs in the basement-- but I got you up and into your Kermit pajamas early because I wanted us to exchange presents before everyone else wakes up… just the two of us."

"Oh…" He sits back on his knees.

"Is that okay? I thought it would be nice to be alone before the chaos."

I feel relief as a huge smile crosses his face. "It is… it's a great idea." Now we're sitting under the tree, grinning foolishly at one another. "I would love to open presents with you at five in the morning on Christmas. But I'm not a pervert."

"You are, but I like that about you, and it's actually well after six now." I smile and then look at the mountain under the tree. "Only one problem."

He looks over at the massive number of packages. "You don't know where my present is, do you?"

I shake my head. I sent it ahead with the rest of the presents and Mom could have put it anywhere under there.

"Well, I don't have that problem." He looks smug. "I know exactly where your present is 'cause I put it there yesterday." He crawls over to the side of the tree, gets on his knees and reaches to a spot near the staircase. 

"A-ha!" He pulls out a medium sized box. "Told you I knew exactly where it was." I reach for it but he pulls it away quickly with a twinkle his eye. "Uh uh, start digging."

***

"I love it!" I pump excitement into my voice. I'm not exactly sure what this is for, but Donna gave it to me, so that's all I need to know.

I see Donna bite her lip, and I think she's trying not to laugh at me. Why is she laughing at me, when I'm pretending to love this… whatever it is. "Do you know what they are?" She echoes what she said last night when I opened the Kermit jammies. You know she wouldn’t have to laugh at me if her presents were self-explanatory.

"Of course I know what they are," I say as I lift them out of the box and examine them more closely. "It's a… uh… pillowcase and then a frillier pillowcase."

"It's not just a pillowcase." She picks up the square of fabric which is very much a pillowcase. "600 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. I got you the whole set, but I didn't want to drag them across country. So I just wrapped one pillow case."

"Oh…great!" Sheets? She got me sheets? I was sort of hoping for one of those Xbox things for my brand new TV. On Thanksgiving Sam told me I could get one that's compatible with the High Def and we could play football on it. I really don't know what it's about, but it sounded cool. And manly. 

"Not just sheet, these are like the Rolls Royce of linen," she explains.

"Rolls Royce of linen? There's such a thing? I just thought they were all squares of cotton…"

"Which explains what you're currently sleeping on. Here, feel." She brings the sheet up to touch my face. "It's like butter," she tells me as she caresses the pillowcase against my cheek. Would it make me any less of a man to admit that it feels like heaven in fabric form? I've never felt anything so soft in my life; except for Donna's skin, of course. "It is nice," is what I admit to out loud.

Hmmm… now all I can think about is Donna on these sheets… me and Donna between these sheets… and it dawns on me… that's what she must have been thinking when she bought them. I love this gift! I meet her eye and then shake my head before accusing, "You are obsessed with having sex with me."

"What?" She drops her hand, which was still caressing the pillowcase against my cheek.

"Seriously, first you give me pajamas." I point to one of the beloved green frogs for emphasis. "And now sheets? You are fixated on getting me into bed."

"I am not! That's ridiculous!" She huffs.

"So you weren't thinking of what we would be doing on these sheets when you bought them?" She may say I'm not a lawyer, but I am; I know how to cross-examine.

"Well… I just… I… uh… thought you'd prefer us to spend time at your place rather than mine."

"So you got me sex sheets," I say matter-of-factly and enjoy the way she's all flustered and her cheeks are bright pink. "No wonder you wanted me to open these when we're alone."

"Not sex sheets! Just sheets, nice sheets, because in order for me to sleep at your place, that old, ratty, ugly bedding has to go." She's still blushing furiously.

"But we can still have sex on the sheets, even though they’re 'nice,' right?" 

She ignores the question, but still blushing she smiles widely. "See, I got navy blue… not feminine, yet a color that will flatter both of us." 

That makes me laugh. "And the frilly pillowcase is for what?"

"That's a pillow sham, Josh. That's the duvet that goes with it… which I also didn't bring. And it's not that frilly."

"It's sort of frilly," I tease. Other than being a bit shiny, it's not that frilly. I like it. And she's right, she's going to look really… let's just say hot, against these sheets. However, Donna would look hot anywhere. Like right now. Is it me or is it getting warm down here in the living room?

"It's silk. Plain navy silk. It will be very pretty against the neutrals of your bedroom… without, you know, being pretty."

I lean over and kiss her softly. "I love it."

"Really?" She looks over at me hopefully. Is she kidding? Like I wouldn't adore any gift from her, period. The fact that the gift means we'll probably be spending more time in bed together is just a bonus. 

"Yeah, it's much better than one of those Xthings."

"What?" She crinkles her nose cutely at me.

"Nothing, I really love the sheets. I need the sheets. But what I love the most is the way they illustrate how obsessed you are with me and sex. And, you know, sex and me."

She's about to retort, but I stop her with a kiss, which leads to several more minutes of making out. Finally, we pull apart and find ourselves sitting in the living room, lit only by the Christmas tree. As I stare into her eyes, I realize this is a moment. One of those times when we're communicating without words and telling each other how much we care with our eyes. 

"My turn!" She declares and makes a grab for the box I'd placed behind me. Or she wasn't thinking about our magical moment, but instead was thinking about her present. Which is okay, because her present is awesome. Trust me; she's going to love it. I'm so gonna be the man.

"Your turn," I agree, but I can't keep the grin off my face, thinking about how she's going to react to this present.

After inspecting the package carefully, she states emphatically, "You did not wrap this." 

"Why do you say that?" I ask, trying to sound affronted.

"The silver curlies."

"I could-" But before I can protest that I’m completely capable of creating silver curlies, she continues to list reasons I couldn't have wrapped it.

"Also the red metallic paper. And the way all the edges actually are measured and meet so I can't see the box underneath." She turns the box over in her hands and examines the back. "The invisible gift wrapping tape instead of the use of masking or electrical tape is another dead give-" 

"Alright, I get it. I'm not a good wrapper. But I did try."

"You did?" She looks at me with interest.

I nod sheepishly. "I might have accidentally wrapped my thumb in the package. It was terrifying. So let's not speak of it again. I had it wrapped. Open it," I command in order to change the subject from the horror of the thumb-wrapping incident.

She's still crossed legged on the floor with the package on her lap. "It's too pretty," she pouts at me. "I don't want to ruin it."

In one fluid motion I reach over in order to grab a handful of silver curlies. "Here, I'll un-pretty it for you, so you can open it."

"Wait!" She practically yells as she pulls the package out of my reach. I have to shush her in order to remind her that the rest of the house is still sleeping.

She scoots over to the fireplace, reaches for a camera that was sitting on the bench in front, and whispers, "I want to take a picture."

"Of what?"

"The present."

"O…kay." I shake my head at her, but smile. How can I not? She's so dang cute… right up until she's handing me back the package— as if I'm supposed to pose with her gift. "What?"

Before I know what's happening, she's commanding me to smile and snapping my picture with her present. It's an image of me holding a Christmas present at seven in the morning while swathed in Kermit. This is not a moment I could have predicted.

I have no choice but to get revenge. I hand the package back to her and at the same time swipe her camera. If there are bed head, Muppet blackmail photos of me, there's going to be Muppet blackmail photos of her too. I'll have to live with the fact that she doesn't have bed head. How she looks perfect at this time of the morning, I have no idea. 

Finally, we're done with the early morning picture taking. She carefully removes the silver curlies and ribbon and slides her finger under the tape.

I'm so excited I can hardly sit still. She's going to love it. 

As she opens the box she looks from me, down to the present and back to me again. Uh oh, she's giving me a look. And it's the my-boyfriend-is-a-pig look. Not so much the my-boyfriend-is-the-greatest-guy in the world look.


	2. Chapter 2

I stare down into the tissue paper; this is a joke, right? He didn't… he wouldn’t have… "What is it?"

"Can't you tell?"

I part the tissue paper so that I can see the gift more clearly. It's… the only apt words that come to mind are ‘itty, bitty scraps of fabric.’ "It's a… uh… swimsuit?" But I use the term loosely. I'm not sure there's enough to it to actually use for swimming. At least not in public. And not without risking criminal charges for indecent exposure.

"Uh-huh." Boy, he's so excited he's practically bouncing up and down. And that's not easy from a seated position. 

"You're giving me a bikini for Christmas?" I carefully study his reaction. This is our first major gift-giving occasion as a couple. I guess I didn't know what to expect, but this… was not it.

"Yes." He nods proudly.

He looks so pleased with himself I can't help but smile over at him. And I also can't stop myself from leaning over and kissing his cheek in order to reward him for being so cute, you know, with the bouncing and all. "Well, thank you. It's…uh… a great bikini." And for the right individual it would be. An exhibitionist or someone who works in the skin trade would probably be over the moon for it. Because it's not that it's ugly… it's just incredibly skimpy. It pretty much consists of three tiny triangles of shiny pink fabric, held together by a couple of black strings. You heard me, just three triangles! The back, of what I'm assuming are the bottoms, is all string. I'm glad I didn't open it in front of my parents, or Grandma. Because while it's definitely not ugly, it looks like something more suited for flouncing around the Playboy Mansion than for Christmas in Wisconsin.

"Is it the right size?" He asks anxiously.

I'm not sure sizes are necessary for this type of garment, but I humor him and check the tag. "It is my size." What do you know, it does have sizes. Cup sizes, at least. Not that there are actual cups, so I'm not sure how they measure. Still, how did he get my size right? I can't believe he's that observant. But mostly I can't believe my Christmas present is a bikini that's probably illegal in most Bible-belt states. But it's from Josh, so I choose to love it. I pull the top out in order to model it against my chest for him.

The bikini isn't out of the box for two seconds before he screeches, "What in the hell is that?" 

Startled, my eyes snap back up to meet his. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what in the hell is that you're… you're holding?!" His eyes are wide with horror.

"Josh, it's the bikini you just gave me for Christmas."

"I did not give you that! I wouldn't give you that! That's… cheap and sleazy… there's been some sort of mistake!"

"A mistake?" I look at him quizzically, but actually feel completely relieved that he seems as shocked by the gift as I am. For a second there, his taste was seriously being called into question.

"Do you think I would buy you something this…this… skanky? It looks like something out of a porno!"

I'm about to ask about the mistake, when the porno comment hits me. "What do you mean, it's like something out of a porno? I thought you don't watch porn."

"Donna, focus." He's trying to change the subject. I let him; we can always take up the porno thing at a later date. 

"Fine. However, I don't really get porn…" I hold it up to my chest again and fake model it, before teasing, "But I'm thinking I could pass for a Playboy bunny in it."

"Well…" Josh looks at me cock-eyed and sounds a little incredulous. Excuse me? I certainly know I don't have some of the God, or surgically, given assets as some of those girls, but he's my boyfriend! He's supposed to lie! Right?

"Tread carefully, Josh. You just gave me a skanky bikini for Christmas and now you're saying I wouldn't even look good in it?"

Realizing his mistake, he quickly stutters, "No, I mean yes, you would look good in it. Great, in fact. And you could absolutely be a Playboy bunny. It's just that you'd look _better_ than any of those other bunnies."

For that I lean over to kiss him, but the second I pull away he murmurs, "I'm gonna kill Margaret."

That perks my ears up. "Margaret?"

He takes a deep, rather sheepish breath. "She was supposed to help me! You know I'm clueless when it comes to this stuff. It was supposed to be something you'd like. But there is no way. You can't wear this!"

"Sure, I can. It's a bathing suit." I really wouldn't be caught dead in public in this suit. "And you did buy it for me, so it wouldn’t be right if I didn't wear it." Now I'm just messing with him, because it's pretty obvious he likes the idea of me wearing this in public even less than I do. "So this is Margaret's handiwork?" 

"It must be. Margaret told me that she took Suzie from Political Affairs and Dale from Human Resources with her to pick it out. But _that_ is nothing at all like the picture they showed me from the catalogue! That one covered… stuff. The top came all the way down to the girl in the picture's belly button and there was a little bow right there," he points to a spot between my breasts. "It was a respectable bikini, this isn't a respectable bikini… it's a… a… skankini!"

That makes me choke on air. He's obviously very upset. "Josh," I try and coo soothingly after the coughing/laughing fit subsides, "I love the bikini and… uh… next summer we can come back, there's a nude beach not far from here on the Wisconsin River. I can wear it there."

"You are not wearing this at a nude beach!" He shrieks. I try not to start laughing again as he takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm down. "There's another part to your Christmas present and the point of the bikini was that you weren't supposed to have to wait to wear it."

"Really?" Suddenly, I feel myself start to tremble. Is this going where I think its going? Because I think the skankini and I might be going to Hawaii! There's usually a short lull after the State of the Union. Maybe we could go for a few days in February…

"Yes." Now he seems a bit recovered from the skankini snafu. At least, recovered enough to grin smugly at me once again.

"Where was I supposed to need it?" I ask breathlessly. I guess the trembling is making me hard of breathing. "Someplace warm!?" 

He gives a little shake of the head. "Nope."

"We're not going someplace warm?" I ask, feeling a bit deflated. He shakes his head again, but still looks pleased with himself. "Why would I need a bikini if we're not going someplace warm?"

"You're going to need it for New Year's Eve."

Now I'm puzzled. New Year's Eves in Washington D.C. are not conducive to wearing thong, string skankinis. I'm just sayin.' 

"I need a bikini for New Year's Eve?" I look down at the skimpy scraps of fabric and then tease him, "What do you have in mind, Joshua… some role-playing sex romp in your bathtub?"

"No!" He says quickly before quirking an eyebrow. "Although, I won't say no to the New Year's Eve sex romp."

"Josh." Groaning, I swat him with the bikini.

His face changes and he grabs the suit out of my hand. After a second of examination, he screeches again, "What is this?" 

I study him as he holds the bottoms of the bikini I just swatted him with, turning it around and around. The tops are still draped across my pajamas. "Josh, traditionally a bikini has two pieces. Those are the bottoms."

"The bottoms? But there is no back!" He looks absolutely horrified, and then his expression changes and he looks even more horrified. "Unless there's no front. Oh my God, please tell me that this is the front!"

"Josh, relax, it's just a thong. If I remember correctly you liked the thong I was wearing the day before yesterday." I blush, thinking back to the way he pulled it off of me… with his teeth. 

He must be thinking the same thing, because his cheeks turn pink as well. "Yeah, sure, when it's under your clothes, and I'm the only one who sees it. Then it's great. But this… this… is indecent."

I need to get him off of the skankini and back to where he wants me to wear it. "Are you sure we're not going to Hawaii?" I give him a little pout. He loves it and would be disappointed if I didn't do it. Besides, I need to drill this Hawaii/vacation thing in at every possible opportunity.

"Yes," he replies with a chuckle. See, I told you he liked the pout.

"Josh, I need a hint."

His dimples are out in full force and their mere appearance makes me feel a little melty. "The bikini was supposed to be for the hot tub."

"There's going to be a hot tub?" I ask, excitement once again building. Maybe he made reservations for that bed & breakfast in Maryland! It's not Hawaii, but it'll be nice to get away, even if it's just for a night.

"Yes, our own private hot tub on our own private deck."

"A private deck?" I don't think the bed & breakfast had decks.

He nods smugly.

"Josh, where is this private hot tub and private deck?" Soon, I'm going to just strangle the information out of him.

"Keep digging in the box. See if Margaret got anything right."

Instantly, I drop the swimsuit and start tearing through the box. My pulse has quickened in anticipation. Sure enough, under the tissue there are a couple of pieces of paper lying neatly in the bottom.

The first piece of paper is a note and right away I recognize Margaret's handwriting. I look up and then with a wide smile, read it aloud. 

"Dear Josh - Trust me, this bikini is better suited for a private hot tub than the one we talked about. You can thank me later - Margaret."

Josh grabs the note out of my hand as if he doesn't believe it. He grunts, but I don't think he's mad. Especially since what Margaret wrote seems to be sinking in. "Is that all that was down there?" He asks after he's read over the two sentences of Margaret's note thoroughly.

"Margaret wrapped the present, didn't she?" I think back to the silver curlies and they really did have Margaret written all over them. He nods guiltily as I ask suspiciously, "What about the thumb wrapping incident?"

"That was a dry run that Margaret made me do when I said I'd wrap the present myself. I failed her test. She probably sabotaged me. Now I know why she wanted to wrap it, she was pulling a fast one!"

I can't stop myself from giggling as I slowly open the next piece of paper that was in the box. It's an airline itinerary. My breathing comes to a full stop; I search his face before whispering, "Plane tickets?"

He smiles and wags his eye brows at me.

Looking down, I'm almost too excited to read all the airline gobbly gook. I see my name and Josh's name and it looks like we're scheduled to go somewhere on the 29th. But I can't tell where because there are no city names, just airport codes. I start mumbling. "Leaving IAD… that's Dulles and our final destination is ASE." I rack my brain. "ASE… ASE…" I glance up to where Josh is once again looking like he's about to burst. "Josh… what airport is ASE."

He pauses for effect, before grinning, "It better stand for Aspen, since that's where the hot tub is."

"Aspen?" The trembling is back. And the breathlessness. And an even bigger increase in the beating of my heart.

"Yes."

"Aspen as in the mountains? Aspen as in skiing?" I ask excitedly as he bites his lower lip and nods. "Aspen as in celebrities and rich people… and… and snow!?"

"The one and only." 

"You're taking me to Aspen." He nods again and I look at him in wonder. "I'm going to learn to ski?"

"If you want to."

I'm in shock. He's taking me to Aspen. I'm going to learn to ski! I know I said I was over the skis… but this is better than skis… this… this is a vacation! Wait… how can we take a vacation? I look at him with disbelief. "But this says we'll be gone until January 5th?"

"Yes."

"But I start my new job on January 2nd."

"I have some pull with your boss. Now you start the following week."

"You... we're going on vacation?" I ask incredulously. I'm not sure Josh has taken a real honest-to-goodness vacation since we entered office.

"I am."

"You're taking me on a trip?" I still can't wrap my mind around it. Josh Lyman doesn't do this type of thing. Not week-in-Aspen type of things at least. But I guess I also thought he wouldn’t do holidays, and here he is early Christmas morning in Wisconsin and he's wearing pajamas and giving presents, so maybe relationship Josh is full of all sorts of surprises.

"Yes, I'm taking you on a trip. That's your real Christmas present."

***

She launches herself at me, and the next thing I know I'm once again on the carpet, splayed out flat on my back. But I don't mind too much because she's sitting on top of me, leaning over and showering my face with kisses. I think she likes the idea of the trip. I knew she would. I knew it. The whole skankini snafu notwithstanding. And maybe Margaret's right, the private hot tub on the private deck is just going to be Donna and me. Under those circumstances, her looking like a Playboy bunny might not be objectionable at all.

After a minute of the kissing shower, she stops and leans back a bit and whispers, "Thank you." 

"Merry Christmas," I say, reaching one hand up and running it through her hair. I study her for a second before becoming concerned. Her eyes have begun to glisten and her nose is suddenly a bit red. "Are you crying?"

"No," she sniffs. She's lying again. 

"You are, you're crying. Why are you crying? I thought you'd like the idea of a vacation?"

Now she's looking down at me like I'm the king of the world. I'm pretty sure I'd do anything for her when she looks at me like this. "You're taking a week off for me?"

"I am. That makes you cry?"

"I'm, I'm… not crying, I'm verklempt. I can't believe you're taking time off work for me."

That strikes me as funny. "You're verklempt I'm taking a week off work, but not because I'm springing for a trip to Aspen?"

"Well, that part is good too."

That just makes me laugh even harder. She leans down and her lips are on mine again. This stops the laughing altogether. Remind me to take time off work more often.

She's kissing me and it's great and I can think of nothing else. Actually, she has me so distracted that I don't notice the signs of life in the house. Thus, I don't know how long we've been kissing at the point that we're rudely interrupted.

"Marjorie! Santa Claus musta knocked himself out coming down the chimney because your daughter is down here giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation." 

We both instantly freeze and the kissing comes to an abrupt end. There is no mistaking Grandma Moss's voice as it rings through the entire house. And there's also no way to pretend that everyone in the house didn't hear that. For such a small lady, Grandma Moss has a really powerful set of pipes.

Donna slowly pulls away and sits up straight, but she's still perched on top of me, so unless I unceremoniously toss her to the side, I can't really move. 

"Merry Christmas, Grandma," she greets brightly. 

"Merry Christmas, Donna," Grandma Moss replies and then waves at me. "Oh and that's Josh under there. Good morning, Josh. What are you doing there on the floor?" 

To my ever-increasing mortification, she starts yelling again. "Never mind, Marjorie, it's not Santa, it's Josh. For some reason Josh must have needed resuscitating."

I can tell my cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. But Donna is just laughing as I lay flat on my back, still looking up at her. And then I hear a fit of giggles. Tilting my head, I find that Donna's nieces, Kelly and Shana, are on the far side of the Christmas tree, apparently inspecting packages. I have no idea how long they've been there, probably too long.

"Presents!" Shana yells joyously starts shaking boxes when it's obvious her presence has been made. But her younger sister comes to stand right next to us. 

"Why are you giving Uncle Josh mouth-to-mouth resuscimation?" Kelly asks Donna with wide eyes.

"Resuscitation," Donna corrects, before reaching over to pull her niece into a hug. "Merry Christmas!" 

"Merry Christmas, Aunt Donna, but why did Uncle Josh need resuscitation?" Let me tell you, it's disconcerting to look up into the eyes of a six-year-old who is worried about your need to be resuscitated.

"Well, he got a little excited opening presents this morning," Donna tells her matter-of-factly. She's going to be punished for that one… later.

"What did you get?" The mention of presents gets Kelly's attention and she comes over from the tree to investigate. Before I know what's happening—or have time to stop it-- she's pulling the skankini out of the box. "Cool. What is it?"

"It's a swimsuit," Donna answers. At least she looks half as embarrassed as I feel.

"Hot damn!" Yes, that was Grandma Moss. I try to sit up, but it's a fruitless effort with Donna's weight still straddling my waist. To her credit, Donna did try and take the skankini from Kelly once she found it, but Grandma moved too fast. Besides being loud, Grandma Moss is also surprisingly agile.

"Marjorie, your daughter started opening presents without us!" Grandma Moss hollers up the stairs, before turning her attention to the garment in her hand. "There's hardly anything to this. How is this supposed to cover you up? It's almost obscene." She holds the top of Donna's skankini up to her chest and I start praying for some cataclysmic event that might end this horror. 

"You like obscene, Grandma." Donna laughs, appearing to have recovered from her embarrassment a minute ago. She laughs! At a moment like this. I think she's so happy about the vacation that she's lost all common sense. 

"That's true. Judith, there you are. Did you see this obscene bathing costume your son gave my granddaughter?"

From upside down I see my mom as she walks down the stairs. Even from this angle I can see her study the object in question. Predictably her eyes go wide as she takes it in. Next, she looks down at me on the floor with obvious disapproval. "Joshua! Why would you buy Donna an obscene… bathing costume. Or whatever kind of costume it really is…" And my mom thinks I'm some sort of sexual role-playing pervert. Great.

"Donna!" I hiss, willing her to do something to end this.

"What?" She looks down at me.

"Do something!"

"Like what? You’re the one that gave me the obscene bathing costume in the first place." She shrugs down at me. Clearly enjoying my discomfort.

So I try and defend myself. "I actually didn't pick it out. Margaret, Suzie from Political Affairs and Dale from Human Resources are the ones-"

But my explanation is not heard over the ever-increasing din in the living room. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I see Donna's parents start to descend the stairs. I'm still flat on my back in front of the fireplace. Donna is still sitting on top of me. Kelly and Shana are scampering around searching for packages with their names on them and Grandma Moss is still holding the obscene bathing costume up and modeling it as my mother just shakes her head at me.

"I thought we moved the Moss Family Pajama Pancake Breakfast from 8 to 9 this year so we could sleep in? What's all the ruckus?" Donna's dad asks.

"Uncle Josh hit his head playing Santa, so Aunt Donna had to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation," Shana recites matter-of-factly as only a second grader can. 

"Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?" Donna's father raises an eyebrow at us. This can only end badly.

Now to my extreme mortification, Grandma Moss takes up the explanation. "And he gave her this hot-to-trot bathing costume. Esther Williams would never have been caught dead in this. But I think I might need to get me one. Where did you get it, Josh?" The thought of Grandma Moss in the skankini is the single most disturbing image I've ever been confronted with. And it's the horror that prevents me from explaining that I didn't pick it out. And before I know it, I've lost the entire window for explanation, because Grandma hands Donna's father the skankini. Though I can't fully read his expression from my current position on the floor, I don't think I’m being melodramatic in thinking that it might take one of those Christmas miracles I'm always hearing about to get me out of here alive. 

"What does hot-to-trot mean, Mommy?" 

That was Kelly's innocent question, and… great, Nikki and Kevin are also standing in the doorway from the basement. "It means your Aunt Donna is apparently a vixen. A vixen who frequents Frederick's of Hollywood. Wowza!"

I want to die. But if I don't die, I will kill Margaret. That is a given.

Kelly looks confused as she asks, "A vixen, like one of Santa's reindeers?"

"Yeah, honey, exactly like that," Nikki agrees with a laugh.

Shana pipes up, "I want to be a vixen like Aunt Donna; can I have a hot-to-trot bikini, Daddy?"

"Over my dead body." Kevin’s voice is still groggy; he clears it before turning to his wife. "Now if you want to be a vixen like Donna and wear a hot-to-trot bikini…" 

"Well, that's quite a gift, Josh." John Moss has now crossed the room and is standing right over us, glowering down at me. And yes, I'm still flat on my back and Donna is still sitting on me. She really, really needs to let me up. 

"I, uh, sir… it's not what you think … the thing is… I didn't exactly pick-"

"It's for our trip!" Donna interrupts my stuttering and is smiling brightly up at her father, seemingly unfazed by the circus around us or by the fact that her father looks like he wants to throttle her boyfriend. She also seemingly hasn’t noticed that I'm completely prone and can't get up with her sitting on me.

"Your trip?"

"My Christmas present is that Josh is taking me to Aspen for seven nights over New Year's Eve!"

"An obscene bathing costume for the mountains in winter? If Aspen is a place where you can wear the likes of this, then it's a place I need to go! But where's the back?" Now Grandma is holding the bottoms up for closer examination.

"There is no back Grandma, see, it's a thong." Nikki is now standing next to her grandmother, demonstrating how you wear the bottoms. They must stop doing that.

"Well I'll be. Doesn't the string ride up your backside?" Grandma asks Nikki, who shrugs and nods in the affirmative. "Well that doesn't seem too comfortable. But fashion is about sacrifice. Why, I once created a sensation by wearing a skirt above my knee. Reverend Evans kept me after church to talk to me about it." She looks over at my mom and says conspiratorially, "That was about the time I stopped going to church." 

"The place where we're staying has its own private hot tub, Grandma," Donna announces gleefully.

"Oh, I see." John Moss narrows his eyes at me from above and I start praying for the floor to cave in. It's my only escape. You don't think he'll try and kill me as long as Donna is between us, do you? 

I hear Nikki snort at her husband. "Take me to stay at some place in Aspen with its own private hot tub and I'll wear a hot-to-trot bikini like that."

"Well I think that sounds wonderful, Josh. A trip to Aspen? What a generous present. I wouldn't mind a trip like that myself." Marjorie looks pointedly at her husband. I think I love Donna's mom. "Now since everyone is up, why don't we get Christmas started? Girls, why don't you come help me set the table." 

"But I want to open presents, Grandma! Donna got to open hers," Shana and Kelly both protest. Great, I've turned Donna into about seven different kinds of bad role model this morning in one fell swoop. That must be some sort of Moss family record.

"Yes, but your Aunt Donna's a vixen." Donna's mom winks at me as she walks by on her way to the kitchen. "And you know we have to wait for your cousins, and they're not coming until after pancakes." 

Oh yeah, Christmas is going to be a very long day.


	3. Five Times the Christmas Cheer

From where I’m seated at the end of the bed, I watch Josh pace back and forth in our room. We've both taken showers and are dressed for breakfast. You know, right back into our Muppet pajamas.

"I can't go back down there." He stops to look at me a second before he continues pacing.

"Yes, you can." I don't want to laugh at him, but it's really hard right now. He's just so cute when he's freaked out about being humiliated in front of my family. Now granted, that scene a few minutes ago in the living room was unfortunate. I wish Grandma hadn't found us making out in the living room. I also wish she hadn't found the thong, string, skankini. But she did and it's a memory I don't think any of us are going to shed for quite some time.

"Why were you just sitting on me? Why didn't you let me up?" He stops once again to pose the questions before he continues wearing a path in the carpet.

I press my lips together to keep from laughing before answering. "What would you have done differently if you'd been standing?"

"I… I… I don't know, but I wouldn't have been flat on my back! Lying there like a… whale you'd just harpooned!"

"You didn't look like a whale." I use my most soothing voice.

"I did. A perverted Playboy-Bunny-bathing-suit-buying whale!" His voice hits an octave only squirrels can hear. I don't know what octave that is, but it's not good on the human ear.

"Okay, you did look a little like that." It's just too easy.

"Donna!" he screeches as he once again stops his progress to glare at me.

"I'm kidding, Josh. It's fine. And it's really time to go down for breakfast."

"I'm not going down there."

He sounds serious. Taking a deep breath, I try a tactic that has worked in the past. "Did you know that in the 12th century, Christmas trees were hung from the ceiling as a sign of Christianity?"

He stops pacing and stares at me incredulously. "What?"

"Don't you think that would have been inconvenient? How do you suppose they fastened them up there? And how do you suppose the ornamentation stayed on? It just doesn't seem practical, does it?" His eyes are bugging out of his head and he looks as if he's going to jump out of his skin, so I explain, "Just a bit of Christmas trivia."

"Now? You're giving me Christmas trivia now?"

"I thought it might distract you from the horrible perverted incident."

"It didn't!" He starts pacing again.

I sigh; confusion and distraction are a no-go. Next up, the outrageous suggestion intended to get him to back down. "What do you propose? That we climb out the window, shimmy down the drainpipe, drop onto the back porch and hitch a ride to the airport?"

"Yes! We will shimmy down the drainpipe. Let's do that." He actually goes over to the window to survey the situation.

"We are not doing that."

He ignores me. I know he's ignoring me, because now he's actually trying to unlock the window. I cross quickly to him and put my hand over his to stop his action as he works on the lock. 

"You cannot shimmy down the drainpipe."

"I can."

"You really can't." I skip all the touchy-feely arguments about responsibility and descriptions of how our families would feel if we snuck out of the house and go right for the big gun. "When was the last time you actually shimmied down anything?"

He stops and thinks before answering. "A rope in Mr. Hornwallis' eighth grade gym class."

"That's my point."

He turns back to the window. "I'll be fine. It's not that far of a drop, is it?"

"Josh, what do I need to do to get you downstairs?" If you want something from Josh, it's really not all that hard, you just need to make a deal. 

He looks at me thoughtfully a second before launching in, "Promise to tell them about the bikini. About Margaret and how she was supposed to help, but instead she switched it on me." 

"Why don't you tell them?"

"Because they won't believe me! They'll think it's a story I made up in order to cover the fact that I'm a pervert!"

"So you admit it, you are a pervert." I look at him with mock sadness. I'm bad, I know, but I can't help it. He's just so easy when he's over-excited.

"Why are you being cruel? Haven't I been good… at this…this week?" 

"At this?" I mimic the gesture he made when he said the words 'at this.'

"Yeah, you know… boyfriend stuff."

My lips tug upwards as I study him. My high-powered, non-Christmas celebrating, Washington politico boyfriend, who is currently dressed in Muppet pajamas on Christmas morning at my parents' house in Wisconsin and who is taking me on a fabulous vacation to Aspen. If that's not the definition of good, I don't know what is. I'm as shocked as you are that it turns out he's pretty top-notch at this 'boyfriend stuff.' At least so far. 

To reassure him, I quickly wrap my arms around his neck. Softly, I press my lips to his in a little-too-long-to-be-chaste kiss. "You, Josh Lyman, are amazing at this boyfriend stuff."

"I'm trying." He says earnestly. But he's smiling now, so I can tell he's fishing.

"I know you are. And with just about everything else in your life. If you try, you succeed." I figure I owe him one after that scene this morning and I'm rewarded with an even bigger smile, one that included dimples. 

"Did you see the look in your dad's eye? The man wants to kill me."

"I don't think you have to worry. My father is a not the killer type."

"But you're still going to go downstairs and clear my name," he asks anxiously.

"Yes, because you're being such a good sport, I will go downstairs and clear your name."

This is what Josh wanted to hear, because he spends no more time contemplating making a break for it out of the second story window. Instead, he follows me out the bedroom door and down the stairs.

***

By the time we're ready to sit down to The Moss Family Pajama Pancake Breakfast, Donna has almost sufficiently explained that I didn't pick out the bikini. I say almost, because I'm not sure there is any sufficient explanation for her dad. Still, he's stopped giving me the death ray with his eyes. Mostly.

At least both her mom and my mom got quite a laugh out of the story, and my mom looked quite relieved that she hadn't raised a costume-giving, role-playing pervert. And Grandma Moss offered to take the suit off of Donna's hands, since it was a mistake. Donna didn't take her up on the offer, thankfully. I don't put it past Grandma to take it and, you know, actually wear it… today.

The Moss Family Pajama Pancake Breakfast is just that. Pancakes. Pajamas. And the Moss family. The first thing I learn is that it's a good thing Donna gave me Kermit PJs last night, or I'd be severely underdressed this morning. The girls are in the pajamas that Donna gave them last night. Nikki & Kevin are in matching blue and white flannel snowflake concoctions. John Moss's are red and he's wearing a Santa hat. I'm remembering that picture in Donna's apartment of her family at Thanksgiving when her dad was wearing the festive Pilgrim vest; if the Santa hat is any indication, that vest might have been the norm and not an aberration. When he's not giving me the death ray glower, he's really quite jolly.

Grandma is wearing white pajamas with pink and red lips all over them. She calls them kissy lips. And she also demands a kiss on the cheek every time you pass her. So far I've kissed her cheek twice; I'm doing better than Donna, who's had to pony up three times so far. Not that I'm counting. Donna's mom's PJs are head-to-toe Christmas candy canes and the like and even my mother is in on it. Hers are button up men's-style like everyone else, but they're emerald green and shiny. They're obviously new. She knew about this!

I walk over to her and whisper. "How come you knew about this pajama thing and I didn't?"

"Because Marjorie prepared me, dear, just as, it seems…" She pats one of the Kermits on my shoulder for emphasis, "Donna prepared you."

"She didn't prepare me," I scoff. After all, I had no idea I would be required to do this. 

"Then why are you wearing pajamas?"

For effect I grunt, but I suppose she's right. Donna did prepare me by giving me these pajamas. And honestly, she probably didn't tell me that I would be required to wear pajamas in public, or at least in the Moss dining room, before I opened them because she was keeping me on a need-to-know basis. Knowing me, that was probably not a bad idea. In any case, I'm here, I’m in pajamas and it's not so bad. So instead of fretting anymore about Kermit, I turn to survey the feast on the table in front of us. The dining room table has been extended and mounds of pancakes-- buttermilk, blueberry and chocolate chip-- are on plates, right next to platters heaping full of bacon and sausage. 

The little girls, who are anxious to get breakfast done with so they can tackle their presents, shepherd us all to our seats. And breakfast is uneventful, which is my way of saying it's without further embarrassment for me. Or it is right up until I notice that Nikki is studying Donna.

Donna notices too, because she looks right at her and asks, "What?"

"Nothing, I'm just wondering… if you got Josh Kermit pajamas because you remind him of Kermit… are you wearing Miss Piggy pajamas because he reminds you of Miss Piggy?" Nikki asks with a serious and inquisitive tone and what one might call a completely evil glint in her eye.

I snort derisively, because obviously that is a ridiculous notion, and shake my head like she just suggested that Martians were running the OMB. I'm about to tell her exactly how preposterous that thought is, when I hear Donna clearly and decisively say the word, "Yes."

What? "What?!" I demand in a voice that is a mite higher than usual. Snickers sound from around the table.

Donna just looks at me with wide eyes as she enjoys a bite of pancake off her fork.

"You're joking. She's joking," I explain to the table at large, before I lower my voice and cajole, "Tell them you're joking." I poke her under the table to make my point.

Uh-oh. Her expression is what I would call wicked. She shrugs. "I'm just saying that you may share a quality or two with-"

I don't even let her finish. "We share a quality or two? That's ridiculous. First of all, Miss Piggy is a she! I am not a she. And isn't she some sort of…" I search back for the right word; after all, I remember catching that show once in a while growing up. "Diva?" Donna nods at me so I know I'm on the right track. "A diva puppet! I can't believe you just compared me to a female, diva, singing pig puppet."

"Muppet." She corrects me without batting an eye.

"Donna! How can you say that? I'm nothing like a female, diva, singing pig Muppet."

She holds her hand up and makes a space between her thumb and index finger. "You're a little like her."

"How? Name one way!" I challenge, confident that she has nothing.

"Are you sure?" She asks with a laugh.

"Ha! I knew you had nothing." Yup, I just called her bluff. She's not getting away with calling me Miss Piggy.

"Well, she has curly hair and you have curly hair." To illustrate this point she reaches up and tugs on a lock of hair near my ear. "Also she has a healthy ego and, let's face it, no one has ever accused you of having a low opinion of yourself. She's very ambitious-- like someone I know-- and known to fly into a rage when her professional success is thwarted and there may be instances in history where you've had bouts of temper in the same situation." 

The whole table is laughing. My mother particularly seems to be enjoying my discomfort.

"So, I'm Miss Piggy?" Setting my fork down, I cross my arms in front of me in a huff.

She reaches over and rubs my back, I suppose in what she thinks is a soothing manner. It is soothing, but I'm not going to admit that to her. "Of course not… you're just the Miss Piggy to my Kermit."

"I'm the Miss Piggy and you’re the Kermit?"

"Yes. And remember, you're the one who started this whole thing."

"So basically what you're saying is that you're the rock, the one everyone else counts on, and I'm the vain glory-seeker?"

She shrugs at me. "If the sequined pig slipper fits…"

I will not laugh. I will NOT laugh. Of course I'm the only one at the table not laughing. "I'm never complimenting you ever again if this is the way you repay me."

"If the original compliment were better, maybe the repayment would be better."

"But I'm Jewish." I fully admit to whining just then. But I think being compared to Miss Piggy excuses it.

"So?" She cocks an eyebrow at me; I can tell she's a little curious as to where this is going. To be honest, so am I.

"So you can't compare me to a pig… it's… it's against scripture. It's sacrilege."

"There's something in the Old Testament about it being sacrilegious to compare you to a singing diva Muppet?"

"Yes… something about cloven hoofs… its right there in… uh… Leviticus?" It comes out sounding like a question, because I'm pretty much pulling that one out of thin air. I wish Toby were here, he could back me up with some impressive-sounding argument based on Jewish law. 

It only takes me a few seconds to rethink that wish. Absolutely the last thing in the world I want is for Toby to ever hear this Miss Piggy conversation. It's going to give me nightmares as it is.

Donna stares me square in the eye as her lips quirk upwards. She's about to speak, but my mother beats her to the punch.

"There's bacon on your plate, Josh." 

I look down and, damn, there is a piece of half-eaten bacon on my plate, which pretty much blows my religious objections clean out of the water. Not that it would have been easy to make a case for a puppet comparison, but I have been called ingenious when it comes to framing an argument. I could have stretched it somehow.

And I can't believe what a traitor my own mother turned out to be, she should be on my side! Is this how it's going to be from now on? Her ganging up on me with Donna? However, I can't be too mad, because when I turn to confront my mother I find her laughing so hard that she's using her napkin to wipe at the tears in her eyes. It's good to see my mom laugh that hard and maybe, just maybe, being compared to a diva, singing pig Muppet is worth it just for that.

***

After breakfast we go upstairs and change clothes… again. Christmas is exhausting. But I'm glad to be in real clothes again, although how long it will last, I don't know. She probably has tights and an elf costume for me in that bottomless suitcase. Not that I'll wear an elf costume, if she does have it in there, because I won't! Probably. But for this festivity, there are no tights and Donna has approved my favorite black sweater as appropriate. I mean her favorite black sweater of mine; I stand by my claim that I don't play favorites with my clothes. 

True to her word from last night, Donna puts on the sweater with the fat, jolly Santa that Shana and Kelly gave her. With all honesty I can say that it's one of the most garish, ugly things I have ever seen; but ugly Santa sweater or not, I still want her so bad right now. You know, to celebrate the gifts we gave to one another earlier. I have a feeling I have some Aspen-celebration lovin' coming my way.

But that has to wait, because finally it's time to open presents. We had to wait for Donna's brother and his family to show before we could start. Can I tell you that I'm really glad that the gift exchanging, between Donna and me, is complete? I might have been humiliated this morning, but I can only imagine how much worse it would have been if I'd been caught unawares in front of all those people. 

I have never seen such chaos in my life, and that includes my time spent as the House of Representatives Floor Manager. The living room looks like a battle took place, and the carnage is all in bows and ribbons. Colorful ripped and torn wrapping covers everything. Its Christmas overload as shouts of laughter and thank yous come from every direction. 

While the adults do exchange gifts, the majority of the presents are for the kids and I have to admit its fun, watching their excitement as they tear through the packages. I even get hugs when they open presents from me. 

"I got them presents?" I lean over and whisper the question in her ear, after I receive my first hug.

"Well, sure, it's Christmas. You give and receive presents at Christmas."

"I know. But I thought we'd, you know, give them presents from both of us."

"We?"

"Okay, I thought _you'd_ give them presents from both of us."

"I did for everyone else, but at the time I didn't know how popular you were going to be with the kids, I thought you might need to buy their affection." She pats my knee and wears a sly smile. "Besides, since I used your credit card to pay for them, and I already got them all pajamas, I thought it was fitting if they were from you."

I soon learn that I bought all four of the kids these globes of the world that light up and even talk about each country when you touch them on the map. Educational, yet fun, Donna explains to me. They do actually seem to be going over well. Hmmm, maybe I do make a pretty good uncle. Well, as long as Donna is the Aunt to my Uncle… or the Kermit to my… never mind.

Most surprising about the gift-giving, for me, is that my mother has somehow managed to make scarves and hats for every single member of Donna's family. Everyone is impressed with her creations, especially me. How did she do all of that? 

"I know you like to knit, but how did you ever manage this?" I ask her under my breath as we sit on the couch, looking around at the various Moss family members, many of whom have their scarves and hats on. 

"Let's see, I had about three weeks and luckily Chanukah was early this year and therefore your Aunt Marie and Ruth Steinberg—you remember, she has the end unit—were free and willing to help me."

"That was very nice of you." Just then one of the boys – either Greg or Craig, I still can't tell them apart-- comes over with a hug for my mother to thank her for his hat and scarf, which actually has a dinosaur knitted right into the pattern. I can't tell them apart, but somehow my mother knows that this one likes dinosaurs. Moms are amazing. And I can tell she is reveling in the attention and joy from the kids; she really does deserve some ginger grandchildren. 

"You're going to make a really good Grandmother."

She shrugs and winks at me. "Oh, I know, bubalah, I'm just waiting for you to cooperate. Do you know when that might be?"

I totally just walked into that, didn't I?

***

After the chaos dies down a bit, I find Donna telling her brother Scott and his wife, Amber, all about our upcoming trip to Aspen. Both of them are duly impressed with the gift. Not that that's why I chose the present, I just really thought that she'd love the trip. And I really do love the idea of taking her someplace nice. For years she's teased me about taking her on vacation and though it was impossible and I shut her down at every mention, the idea was never unappealing. Trust me. And now that we can actually do it, I have no intention of wasting any more time.

I watch as she tells the story of the skank-ini. I wish she wouldn’t do that, but since Grandma Moss mentioned it—about six or seven times-- during the opening of the gifts, she probably doesn't have a choice. She's quite animated, her hands move excitedly, her smile is so big her face can barely contain it and her eyes are positively lit up.

Just looking at her I start to feel all warm and smushy inside. 

Smushy? What the hell am I saying!? Is that even a word? I don't know, but it's certainly not a word I've ever used before. It's official. Actively loving Donna is making me go soft. I shake my head and focus on the fireplace and think of manly things. Like baseball and Parliamentary procedure. I steal a glance back at Donna. Nope, it's not working, I still feel smushy. Maybe I need to go out and do something really manly, like chop wood or something.

"Hey, Josh." Startled, I glance up and find John Moss addressing me. "What say you help me chop some wood so we can get this fire started?"

Whoa. Can fathers read minds? Does he know that I'm experiencing diminished masculinity due to actively loving his daughter and now he wants to take me somewhere alone? With an ax? "Chop wood?"

"Yes, for the fire. I've got a woodpile out back. Unless you don't do that sort of thing?" 

"No, yes. I mean I'd love to…uh… cut up some wood." I rise quickly and scramble to find my coat.

"Chop, Josh. We're going to use an ax, not a paring knife."

"Right." I try not to show my nervousness as I follow him to the back of the house. I glance back at Donna, who seems to be watching me with amusement, and try to memorize her face. You know, in case it's the last time I ever see her. 

***

"Oh, there you are, Donna. Where's Josh?" Judith glances at me as I enter the kitchen.

"Brace yourself." With curiosity, Judith heeds my warning by stopping the preparation of her special green bean casserole to look at me. When I have her full attention, I announce, "He's chopping wood."

"Pardon?"

"Your son, Joshua Lyman, is, as we speak, out back, chopping wood with my dad."  
!  
"Oy!" She sets down her spatula and moves to the sink to wash her hands. "Are we sure that's safe? My son is capable of a great many things, but wielding an ax? You know he's never been much for the manual labor."

"Oh, I know, his idea of manual labor is pumping his own gas. But he seemed eager to get out there."

"Eager to please your dad, I think."

"Probably." I nod with a laugh. "He's trying very hard."

She nods a couple of times before turning to look at me seriously. "I haven't had the opportunity to thank you."

"To thank me? For what?"

"Oh, for many, many things. First and foremost, for making my son happy. For being his friend, for looking after him and taking care of him. I've always rested easier knowing that he has you."

Always? "But he really hasn't had me for more than a couple of weeks," I try and explain.

"A couple of weeks?" She asks with great interest and I remember my own mother's speculation that Josh and I had been together for quite some time.

"This thing with us has happened so fast, it was just this Thanksgiving that things changed." It's even hard for me to believe that six weeks ago Josh was my boss and my friend and that was it.

"Thanksgiving?" Judith's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She looks a lot like her son when she does it.

"Yes, everything with us is all very new."

After a second, she shoots me a knowing smile. "Yet, I've always rested easier knowing that he has you. So maybe it's not so much new… as improved?" 

That makes me smile. "I guess you could say that." I nod, before I look at her earnestly. "It's been so great. It's going through all the fun and excitement of a brand new relationship… but with my best friend. It's perfect."

"I'm so glad." Judith takes several steps towards me and before I know what's happening, she wraps me in a warm hug. "Because I think it's perfect too."

She lets me go and I find myself sighing with relief. Not that she was letting me go, but that it seems that she accepts me as a part of Josh's life. I've always known she liked me, but that was as Josh's assistant. I wasn't sure how that would translate when I became more than that. But it seems I didn't have to worry. 

My mind at ease, I laugh, "I just can't believe he's taking me on vacation. That is something that I wasn't sure he'd ever do."

Judith nods knowingly as she continues with her food preparations. "That's just another reason I'm so pleased about you two. For years, he's buried himself in work. But I truly believe that maybe he's beginning to understand that there are things outside of work and that balance is important. Family is important." She turns and squeezes my chin quickly. "But I know he considers you important, so maybe the rest will come naturally." She walks to the oven door. "Speaking of family, I'm making my traditional green bean casserole; you know how Josh just adores it."

That, and the fact that I know how Josh really feels about the green bean casserole, makes me smile broadly at her. "I do." And then another culinary idea strikes me. "Hey, maybe tomorrow you could show me a few tricks when it comes to making latkes? My first attempt at Chanukah wasn't entirely successful, there might have been some over-frying. And then we can introduce them to my family."

Judith pauses and she appears… touched. I hope. Actually, I see her flutter her eyelashes and I know she's touched. Of course her fluttering makes the heat rise behind my own eyes. Finally, she responds, "I think that sounds like a great idea… I would love to."

"Judith, I want you to know… Josh is obviously not the most observant person on the planet, and even though I'm not really religious either, all of this…" I motion to the houseful of Christmas. "…is very important to me, but just as I'm not willing to give up who I am, I don't want him to lose any of who he is either. I just want us to mesh who we are and what we believe and our traditions as best we can." I take a deep breath and smile at her. "And frankly Josh isn't very helpful with that type of stuff, so I want you to know that I'm open to learning and listening and… whatever."

Judith's eyes glisten at me as she smiles widely. "I think I can help you with… whatever. In fact I would be honored. And you're right about Joshua. But, you know, Noah was the same way. When it came to religion, he had a bit more discipline than Josh, but even with everything his family went through, he was never very devout. Instead he was practical. He wanted to provide for his family and make his mark by being as successful as he could be and making a difference. That's how he wanted to honor his own father."

"Then they really were cut from the same cloth. I believe Josh strives to honor his family and his father, by spending every single day fighting for what he thinks is right, fighting for people who can't fight for themselves. It's one of the most remarkable things about him."

"Yes, it is. Oh, Donna," Judith takes a deep-halting breath and I see her quickly wipe away a tear. "A father was never as proud of a son as Noah was of Josh. He probably would have burst with pride had he lived to see him as the Deputy Chief of Staff in the White House." She puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes. "And I know he would have adored you."

"Really?" I feel the lump that had already gathered in my throat grow larger. 

"Actually, I don't even have to speculate. In the short weeks that you worked for Josh before Noah passed, you were already a favorite."

"I was?" That takes me by surprise. I spoke to Noah Lyman a handful of times when he was trying to reach Josh. I knew he was going through chemo and if Josh couldn't come to the phone at that moment, sometimes I'd update him on where we were and what was happening. He always had lots of questions and even more opinions on what we should be doing. 

"Yes, in fact I remember one day when he was talking to Josh, cranky from his treatment and kvetching that he was dating the annoying, shrill one when he had such a sweet, intelligent girl close enough that she could answer his phone."

I press my lips together in order not to laugh and admittedly I also blush. "Do you remember what Josh said?"

"I do, because it's the same basic variation of what he's said for years. He just kept saying that you were 24… and his assistant."

"That was true," I say thinking back. I know it's fruitless to wonder what things would have been like if Josh had noticed me as something besides his 24-year-old assistant back then. Because it didn't happen like that, and maybe it's better like this. Maybe we had to become partners and best friends, before this would work.

"Oh, and I do remember Noah asking if you were as pretty as you sounded during that conversation. And Josh just said, once again, that you were 24. But both Noah and I knew that meant you were a real looker. And I just know that Noah would be as happy as I am… that Josh has so very obviously found happiness with you."

Judith pulls me into another hug. I blink several times, but can't stop a tear from sneaking out the corner of my eye, because I really do think we have found happiness and knowing that Josh's family approves, or would have approved, just makes everything that much better.


	4. Five Times the Christmas Cheer

Trudging across the snow in the backyard, I suddenly wish I'd brought appropriate wood chopping footwear. Now, don't get the wrong idea; it's not as if I'm in wingtips out here. Donna bought me some Merrills before I left. But according to reports, and it should be noted that my reporters are six and eight; it snowed "like a ton" here the day before we came. So the snow is deep enough that it's falling over the sides of my shoes and down into the fuzzy part next to my socks. I don't think that's going to help me with the wood chopping. What kind of boots do you suppose guys, who chop wood for a living, wear? 

When I say that Donna bought the shoes for me, let me clarify that she used my credit card. I wonder if most women have the guy they've been dating for a month's credit cards and use them at will? Or are Donna and I different? I know the answer. We're different. She's had my credit card numbers memorized for years. I really don't mind. And it hits me that I don't mind because I trust her with everything. Pretty much always have. 

I watch Donna's father as he inspects the large stack of wood against the back fence. He glances back at me. "Give me a hand, Josh?"

"Uh, sure." I walk over and help him heave a large piece of trunk so it's sitting upright. If I'm expected to try and chop this mother in half, we're all in serious trouble. It's at least two feet wide.

But I have bigger problems, because now Donna's father is holding the ax. He looks a little menacing with that ax and I feel suddenly compelled to clear the air.

"Sir, I want you to know about this morning. I was shocked when she opened it, I swear the bathing suit I thought I was giving her was fit for a nun; it had lots of coverage and even had a bow right here." I point to the middle of his chest. Donna's father's chest. I quickly realize what I'm doing and yank my hand back. "Anyway, I never would have given her… that. And especially I never would have done it when there was a chance your granddaughters or mother would see it…"

He stares at me hard and then his lips quirk upwards. "It's okay Josh, and as Donna's mother pointed out to me this morning, it's none of my business what you give Donna for Christmas. Pornographic swimwear or not."

"All the same, I had no intention of giving her pornographic… anything."

He laughs. Donna's dad is laughing! That's good. I hope. And he changes the subject. "We had this tree taken out this summer; we'll just grab some of the logs from the smaller branches. Would you like the first swing?" He asks, holding out the ax.

What do I do? Will he think I'm an unworthy wimp if I admit I have no idea how to wield an ax? Should I just give it a try? No, that might be worse. "To be honest, sir, I've never actually chopped wood before."

"Really?"

"I grew up in Connecticut." 

"There are trees and fireplaces in Connecticut, aren't there?" I think he's hazing me again.

"We didn't use our fireplace much."

"Well then. I'll show you." He actually seems excited by this prospect. He places one of the smaller logs on its end on the larger piece of trunk we moved earlier. "Hold the ax like this; use your legs to take some of the strain off your back." He says, demonstrating by gripping the ax and bouncing on his knees. "Hold it over your head, swing and try to hit the center of the log with a strong, steady strike." He hands me the ax. "Do you want to try?"

"Why don't I watch you do it first?" I say, trying to sound very masculine while weaseling out of touching the ax.

"So you chopped a lot of wood growing up?" I ask, trying to make conversation. What? It was the best I can do under the circumstances. 

"I grew up on a farm in northern Minnesota. So, the answer is yes," he replies as he swings the ax, neatly splitting the log in two.

"Right. Donna was born up there, wasn't she?" Please don't tell me it's my turn to chop the wood.

"She was." He clears the split wood and puts it into a new pile. "We moved to Madison shortly after she was born."

"I knew it!" John Moss looks at me oddly, so I clarify. "Donna always used to try and convince me she was a farm girl. You know, born AND bred." 

"Did she?" He looks up and smiles brightly. That obviously tickled him.

"She did." It tickles me, too.

"Ready to give it a try?" He holds out the ax for me again. And I decide I have no choice, it's time to step up and be a man. Or something. 

"Sure." I take the ax. Let me just say, it's heavier than I thought. And a little slippery. I grip it tighter with my leather gloves. In one motion I lift it over my head, ask for help from any deity that might be listening, and swing it with all my might.

Well, that was predictable. 

I look up sheepishly. "I guess I missed."

And John Moss is biting his lip, obviously trying not to laugh at me. "That's okay. Everyone does. That's why the big trunk is underneath. Your swing was good. Just need to improve your aim. Try it again," he says as he dislodges the ax from the tree trunk. 

Please don't make me do this. Please don't make me do this. Only for Donna would I do this again. I go to swing again and this time I concentrate on hitting the five inch center of the log in front of me. This time the sound of splitting wood greets my ears.

"Well, alright! Not bad at all!" Donna's dad congratulates as he picks up the halves of the log I just split. I look at my achievement. I did it! I hit it dead center and it split right in half. That felt… good.

"Let me try it again," I say, eagerly taking another log off the pile.

A few minutes later, I survey the wood we've chopped. "So how much… uh… wood, will we need to start a fire?"

"Just a cord." 

"A cord?!"

He looks back at me and quirks his lip. "Nah. Just testing if you know what a cord of wood is."

"I wrote logging legislation. I know that a cord of wood can produce up to 2,000 pounds of paper, depending on how it's made, or 7.5 million toothpicks. So it seems like that would be a lot of wood to chop." 

"Ah… right." He studies me for a minute. "You're good at what you do." He doesn’t say it like a question, but I sort of think it is.

"I like to think so, sir."

"Donna says you are. You know, she's your biggest fan."

"Well, I'm her biggest fan."

"But your job is very important to you." Again this is a question, not posed as a question. I meet his eye. For some reason, I know what he's asking me.

"Nothing is more important than Donna." And in that moment, talking to her father while chopping wood, I know that I’m telling the truth. She is the most important thing to me. 

"Your job is still important… and important to you as well."

"Uh… well… it is," I stammer. The truth is I haven't fully thought out how I'm going to make Donna the most important part of my life. But I want to, and that's a start. I look him in the eye, "I'm not going to lie to you and pretend like my job isn't demanding. Because it is demanding and it is important to me. I don't know how to do things halfway. I know that means that my life will undergo some adjustments now that Donna and I have started a relationship. But I'm committed to figuring it out." I can't believe I'm actually having this conversation with a woman's father. I've never had a conversation like this with a woman's father. Do men still have conversations like this with women's fathers?

My heart begins to race as if I'm running from a pack of angry activists whose bill I just torpedoed and I can feel my palm sweat in my gloves. I had started to work up a sweat with the wood-chopping, but this is different. A nervous sweat. I can't believe I'm about to do, what I'm about to do. It's not that I have any specific plans, I don't. But this might be my only opportunity to talk to Donna's father, man-to-man.

"Mr. Moss…"

He seems to sense the change in me and gives me his full attention. My throat is dry. I wish I had some sort of liquid… or something. Thankfully, my gloves hide my shaking hands.

"Mr. Moss… I'm in love with Donna. And I hope that one day she'll agree to be my wife. I knew I wanted to marry her before we even started dating. The day before we started dating to be exact— and, actually, if I'm being honest I probably knew on some subconscious level since the day I met her." Knowing I need to stop rambling and get to the point, I take a deep breath, "So when the time is right, I sincerely hope you and Mrs. Moss will give us your blessing."

He stands there with an inscrutable expression on his face. I stand there and feel as if my life is passing before my eyes. What have I done? There's really no turning back now. Not that I wanted to turn back. I just… this wasn't planned and I think I'm freaking out a bit. 

Finally, he speaks. "Josh, you'd better call me John and my wife Marjorie, if you're going to marry my daughter and become a part of this family."

That's good, right? That was him giving me his blessing? It's hard for me to tell because I feel as if I'm floating overhead looking down on this scene. Is that what they call an out-of-body experience? 

"Really?" The word comes out with a whoosh of air, all the breath I'd been holding.

"Donna is happy. It couldn’t be more obvious. And any man who would come here, put up with the whole family, and chop wood, is obviously crazy about her."

"I am crazy about her… Mr… uh… John, I truly am."

And with that, he pats me on the back and we gather up the wood and head back to the house.

***

I walk into the living room to find several little kids playing with their new Christmas toys near the tree, and two men on their knees in front of the fireplace. The sight makes me smile. "Watch out, Daddy, the President once had to be evacuated from the White House because of Josh's fire building skills."

Josh whips around to look at me. "That was Sam's fault." But he smiles brightly at me. Really brightly, as if he's really happy to see me.

"It was a little bit your fault."

"If you'd gone out for the dried leaves like I'd asked…"

"Then you would have started the fire sooner and the President would have just been out on his balcony sooner."

"But the dried leaves would have told us that the fireplace had been sealed before we even attempted to use the logs."

"You also could have learned that important information from the engraved plaque right on the fireplace," I scoff with a smile. I notice that my dad is watching Josh and I lob back and forth, so I decide to inquire, "How was he with the wood chopping?"

"Very good. Better than your brother."

"Hey!" Oops. That was my brother, Scott, who just walked into the room. My brother's even less into manual labor than Josh. 

"There's more out there to be chopped, if you want to go give us a hand, son," my dad challenges. 

"This one can't chop wood. He's soft!" Uh oh. Grandma just walked into the room.

"I am not soft!" My brother's feathers are getting a little ruffled. 

Deciding I have to do something, I glance out the window and am rewarded with the perfect solution. I turn to my brother. "Prove it."

He looks at me with a scowl. "What?"

"It's snowing." Everyone turns to look out the window and the revelation is met with excited exclamations from the kids.

"So?"

"If you haven't gone soft, then you won't say no to a good old-fashioned snowball fight."

He glares at me, the way only a big brother can, before he announces, "You're on."

The kids squeal in delight, and suddenly, there's even more activity in the living room as people start preparing to go outside. I find Josh with my eyes; he seems to be sidling out the back of the room. Why would he be doing that?

Quickly, I make my way to him. "Where ya going?" 

He turns around with a start. "Uh… just thought I'd go out to the back porch to grab some more wood." 

"But the snowball fight will be in the front yard."

"Donna, I can't abandon the fire."

"You can't?" 

"No… it's in a delicate stage. It's infancy. It needs special care to, you know, grow up into a healthy adult... fire."

This gives me the giggles. "Come on." I loop my arm through his and start tugging him towards the coat closet.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Snowball fight out front."

"What about the fire?"

"It will find a way to make it to the next stage in its development without you." I pat his arm reassuringly. "I think Grandma has Dr. Spock's latest on raising a healthy fire, so she can cover for you."

He just stares at me a second before retorting. "You're not funny."

"I really am. Do you want everyone to think you're soft, like my brother?"

"I chopped wood!" 

"Around here, it's just like in the West Wing. You're only as good as your last-"

"Alright…"

"If you'd rather stay inside, raise your fire and watch the fight with Grandma Moss through the window…"

"No. No, bring it on. I'm all about a snowball fight."

"Why are you trying to weasel out of this? I thought you'd like a snowball fight."

He points to his shoes that he’s about to put back on. "They're a little…"

I kneel down to inspect them. Eek. "The insides are soaked. I should have gotten you the boots, instead of the shoes. No matter, you can wear an old pair of my dad's boots."

Josh perks up at the idea of dry footwear and I start rummaging through the closet for a pair of old boots. It doesn't take long, and soon we've joined the troops outside.

Thirty minutes later we all trudge back inside. Very wet and accompanied by lots of laughing. Or rather, Josh is very wet, and the rest of us are laughing. It took twenty minutes for our teams to build a decent supply of snowballs and a fort, and by fort I just mean scooped out spots in the snow with a little embankment. The teams were Josh, me, Craig and Shana on one side, my brother, my sister, Greg and Kelly on the other. Grandma Moss is watching, my dad's helping the moms cook, Amber's with them in the kitchen helping, but actually getting in the way, and Kevin is playing with the new camera he got for Christmas. He got out of the fight by naming himself the official photographer of the proceedings.

Unfortunately, my dad's feet are bigger than Josh's, so the first time Josh tried to run and launch a snowball attack in the boots, he fell flat on his face and was left a sitting duck out there. He got pelted with quite a few snowballs. The kids and I tried to lend support from our spot behind the fort, but we couldn't really throw far enough to give him any cover. So the snowball fight lasted about five minutes, and Josh took the brunt.

Once inside, it takes longer than the snowball fight lasted to get all the snow out of Josh's coat and gloves. I think he's going to complain about yet another wardrobe change, but he actually seems anxious to get upstairs out of the wet clothes. 

***

As soon as we're alone in the bedroom, I sit on the end of the bed and cross my arms over my chest. Anyone could tell I'm not happy. When she doesn't say anything, but instead just buzzes around the room happily looking for dry clothing, I finally speak. "How many times have we watched Top Gun? Did you learn nothing from it?"

"What are you talking about?" She knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"In battle! You never leave your wing man. We were supposed to attack together!"

She stops buzzing and is now standing right in front of me. "That was the original plan. But then right out of the gate you went down like a sack of potatoes and I had to think on my feet."

"So thinking on your feet told you to hide behind the fort while I got pelted with snowballs?"

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time." 

"You left me for dead!"

"I did not. It was a diversionary tactic. We won the snowball fight, didn't we?"

"But there was a man down. You never leave a man behind."

"But once they'd exhausted their entire supply of snowballs on you, we were able to zing 'em. You were our decoy. Our big, strong, sexy decoy. Put your arms up." Her voice got a little husky there at the end. I really like it when she uses her husky voice. 

"Sexy?" That idea, along with the husky voice, perks me up as I lift my arms in the air so she can pull the soaking wet sweater off of me.

"Yes, it was a real turn on seeing you lying there, face down, in the snow like that. Up again."

"How much of a turn on?" I ask as she pulls the white undershirt I was wearing off as well. Now she's got a look in her eye. I know this look. It's the look dream Donna gets when she's randy. Who knew dream Donna and real Donna would wear the same look when they want me? And also, who knew Christmas would bring out the sex kitten in her? If I'd known before, I definitely would have gotten her those skis our first Christmas in office.

"A really big one," Donna replies as she pushes on my chest and I scoot back on the bed a bit. Facing me, she crawls on the bed on her knees and then sits in my lap. 

I look at her with a twinkle in my eye before ordering, "Arms up."

She complies and I pull her wet-- but not nearly as wet as my favorite black sweater-- Santa sweater over her head and all the way off. Unlike me, she's not wearing anything underneath. Except for her bra! She was wearing a bra; I didn't mean to imply she'd been slinking around here... unholstered. 

Now that she's sitting on my lap, almost naked from the waist up, she wraps her arms around my neck provocatively. "If your wingman was really sorry and willing to make restitution, could you forgive her for desertion in the midst of battle?"

Deciding to milk this, I shake my head. "I don't know… it was a very serious snowball incursion. There could have been snow casualties."

"Okay, have you been playing Sit Room with Sam over the phone?"

"No," I say quickly. "Don't be ridiculous-" But I can't finish my sentence because she interrupts me with her lips. On mine. In what quickly turns into a pretty hot kiss. Our mouths start by meshing sweetly but in no time at all our tongues are dueling passionately. She tastes like peppermint and chocolate. I never thought that would be intoxicating, but it is. My hands travel up her mostly bare back as hers press from my shoulders down and continue to roam over my tense muscles. Her hands feel really good. I crave her touch, especially on the spots that are a little tender from the snowballs. I'm about to actually break the kiss in order to ask her to press a little lower and to the left, but I never get the chance.

"You two are a couple of horn dogs, you know that?"

At the familiar voice, Donna and I both freeze. Pulling our lips apart, we turn slowly to find Grandma Moss standing in the doorway of the bedroom. The open doorway. A doorway that was not open a moment ago. 

"Nothing to be ashamed of, I was a horn dog when I was your age. Why, Grandpa used to call me-"

Thankfully, Donna picks that moment to cut her grandmother off. "Hi Grandma, is there something we can do for you?" Donna is still sitting on me, but leaning back against her heels while my hand is on her lower back, steadying her so she doesn't tumble off the edge of the bed. Her hair is absolutely wild, probably from the hat she was wearing for the snowball fight, and her skin is flushed a very sexy pink. If Grandma Moss would just leave I'd show her how sexy. See, I'm almost getting comfortable in these situations. Almost.

"I've come up to tell you that dinner is ready," Grandma announces helpfully.

"Thanks, Grandma, we'll be right down," Donna says and I can tell she's trying not to laugh. 

With that Grandma touches her nose. I have no idea what that means, but Donna must, because she touches her nose in return and Grandma turns to go. As soon as she's out of the door Donna dissolves in giggles. I can't help but laugh, too. I'm holding her as she shakes against me and we keep on laughing, right up until we hear Grandma holler down the stairs again.

"Marjorie! Your daughter and Josh are up here resuscitating again. As soon as they get their clothes back on, they'll be down for Christmas dinner."

Donna and I both lean back in order to stare at each other incredulously, as if we can't believe what just happened… except that we both can. She shrugs and we both start laughing again. I ask, "Are you sure I'm not on Greatest American Home Bloopers or something?"

Donna's now giggling so hard she has to wipe her eyes as she pants, "I'm sure, it's just my family." Finally, she peels herself off of me and starts rummaging through my suitcase. After half a second she throws me khakis, a fresh T-shirt and a bright blue sweater I've never seen in my life. I have a feeling I've never seen it because it's new. Donna must have bought it for me when she bought the Merrills. She said she was going to "pick up a few things" for the trip. A "few things" must have been a whole new wardrobe. Again, the funny thing is that I don't mind. I like it, in fact I always did. Donna used to pick out-- and sometimes even shop for—my clothes before we were together. It's comforting how some things aren't going to change.

Finally, we're dressed in fresh, dry clothes and we make our way downstairs for Christmas dinner. I'm sure some embarrassing scene or another awaits us after Grandma Moss's announcement. At least her dad knows that I'm not some fly-by-night gigolo just trying to seduce her. He knows I want to make an honest woman out of her. That's something, right?


	5. Five Times the Christmas Cheer

"It's quiet."

"Finally," I sigh. Josh and I just cleaned up the kitchen and have walked into the living room to find it empty.

"Where did everyone go?"

"To bed, I guess."

"To bed? It's only 10pm."

"Hmmm… actually, I think some of 'em are in the basement watching a movie. But with getting up pretty early and the excitement and the snowball fight, and all the eating, they must be tuckered out. Thanks for helping me clean up the kitchen, by the way." I could never have predicted how willing to do whatever he was called to do, he'd be. Chop wood, snowball fight, dishes. Whatever's been asked of him, he's been equal to the task.

"My pleasure, but aren't we tuckered out, too? 5:55am," he reminds me with a grin as he nods his head upstairs. I know what he wants. He wants to go to bed, although I don't think sleep is on his mind. 

"Nah, we're machines. We don't get tuckered out." Carrying both our glasses of wine, I flip off the lamps in the living room with my forearm. It's a talent. Now the room is lit only from the lights on the tree and the banister garland. The fire in the fireplace is still roaring and several candles flicker from around the room. "Come here." 

"What's going on?" Startled, he looks around the newly darkened space with misgiving.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going to try and seduce me in the living room again, only to have Grandma Moss and the entire family walk in and think we're playing 'perverted politician trips and falls in the living room' and needs mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?"

"That sounds like a fund game, but I didn't seduce you this morning; it was the other way around."

"Then why was I the one that was flat on my back, while you were sitting on top, you know, trapping me?" His eyes go wide. "Come to think of it, you were on top after the snowball thing too! It's like a conspiracy!"

"It's not a conspiracy, you're just easy."

"Easy?" He scoffs. He's actually scoffing at me. It's really hot.

"Yeah. You know, loose, easy to get into compromising situations," I tease before nodding to the floor near the fire. "Sit down." 

"I am not loose. And on the floor?" I just look at him until he complies and sits with his back against the big chair next to the fireplace. He's so easy.

"What are we doing on the floor?" He asks, sounding suspicious again. He must really be traumatized by what happened this morning on this very floor. I thought that after no one really paid us any mind when we came down for Christmas dinner, he'd be over it. However, even though no one paid us any mind, Josh still felt the need to throw the fact that we had changed clothing due to the snowball fight into conversation about a dozen or so times.

"We're on the floor in order to have a moment alone."

"Oh," his eyebrows quirk in surprise. "We need to be on the floor to be alone?"

"It's romantic," I explain as I set both glasses of wine on the hearth in front of the fire, then plop down between Josh's legs in order to lean back against him. From our new vantage point we can see out the front window, where all the Christmas lights in the yard and down the street are reflecting in the fresh blanket of snow that's still falling. Not to mention the majestic 15-foot Christmas tree that towers right above us as the fire crackles and pops. Seriously, growing up I had fantasies about moments like this, me and my boyfriend by the fire at Christmas. But this is better than the fantasy.

"The floor is romantic?" He asks as he takes a sip of wine. Obviously, he didn't have this particular fantasy. That's okay, I can teach him.

"No, silly, the wine, the fire, the candles, the snow, the twinkling little white lights of the tree. The romance of Christmas!"

"I'm not getting it." 

For that I elbow him gently in the stomach. 

"Oh, romantic." I can hear the teasing in his voice, but he wraps his arms around my torso and I feel myself melt back against him. He whispers in my ear, "This is nice. Finally we're alone, we can have some fun." 

"I thought you were having fun today?" 

"I did have fun today. But I also like having alone-fun with you." I lean to the right and turn so my lips can meet his cheek; that earns him a kiss.

"Did you really?" I ask with a little trepidation after I settle back in his arms.

"Did I really what?"

"Did you really have fun today?" He looked like he was having fun, but it's an almost foreign concept to picture Josh Lyman having fun while eating in Kermit pajamas, opening presents with little kids, chopping wood and being pelted with snowballs.

"Well aside from the part where I got injured, I had lots of fun."

"You got injured during the snowball fight?" I ask with concern. The snow was pretty soft and dry, thankfully. But it can still hurt to take one at close range. And Josh took about a dozen or maybe two dozen at close range.

"Nope."

I sigh with relief; I would have felt very guilty if he'd been injured while I was falling down on my wingman duties. "Then when?"

"I made this fire." He's so smug when he says it that it makes me smile.

"I remember. And you did a good job, 'cause it's grown into a healthy young adult."

"Yes, well, I was injured in the making of this fire; this fire was made possible by my very own blood, sweat and tears."

"There were blood, sweat and tears?" I giggle; I hope he doesn't take my giggles as me not being appropriately impressed with his sacrifices.

"Yes! I chopped wood!"

Shockingly enough he did chop wood; I have to give him that. But that doesn't mean I can't tease him. "Okay, how did you produce blood, sweat and tears, not to mention an injury, chopping wood?"

Now he squeezes me a bit tighter—believe me, I don't mind that at all-- by bringing both hands around and in front of me so he can point to a small spot of tough skin on his palm. 

I take his hand and bring it closer to my face as if to examine it thoroughly. "Where?"

"What do you mean 'where?" His voice got a little high there. "You're my girlfriend. I thought one of the benefits of having a girlfriend was that you were supposed to be sympathetic when I injure myself in the course of manly pursuits." 

This makes me giggle even harder, but I concede, "Okay, you're right, I should be more sympathetic." In order to prove it, I peer closely at his palm. "That's it?"

My question makes him squeeze me tighter, seemingly in retribution for my sympathy of his "injury." "Hey!" I squirm a bit in his arms. "It's not my fault you've never done manual labor before!"

"I have!" 

"When?"

"Uh…" He pauses, obviously to try and conjure something out of thin air. "My last year of law school I shared a house... and had to rake the lawn once or twice."

"My big strong manly-man."

"That's right," he whispers in my ear as he loosens his grip around me a bit.

"You know, strong manly-men usually aren't such Sallys about a little boo-boo." But I soften my words by bringing his palm to my lips and softly kissing the ever-so-slightly red area below his index finger. 

"I'm not a Sally." He squeezes me again.

I kiss his palm again. "You're a little bit of a Sally. But I do hear you're very good at chopping wood. What else did you talk to my dad about?"

His movement behind me arrests. Uh oh. I hope my dad didn't continue hazing him. I'm worried that Josh can take only so much. Even though it's not really my family's fault they found the skankini. "My dad… didn't say anything, did he?"

"Anything?"

"Well, he's not still giving you a hard time, is he?"

"No…" His voice is suddenly a little rough. "He just… uh… taught me how to use the ax and stuff."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, he must have been saving the hazing for your brother. With all the going 'soft' comments."

"That was Grandma."

"In any case, I'm personally glad I got to go out and assert my masculinity by chopping wood today." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, because I was starting to fear that all this loving you that I'm doing, was turning me soft." 

Suddenly, I'm in a rush, my stomach starts to buzz and my brain blocks out everything, but one word. A word I've been waiting to hear for 28 days and 2 hours. Give or take. Well, I've wanted to hear it a lot longer than that, but I've been actively waiting for 28 days and 2 hours. I scoot around sideways in his arms in order to see his face. He widens his knees in order to accommodate my new position. In the firelight his eyes are a softer color than usual. They actually look like they belong to a man who is currently experiencing emotion. I think. "Loving me?" 

"Caught that, did you?" He asks shyly, his voice still rough.

"We've never, you know, said that word." My heart does a somersault as I speak.

"I know." He reaches up and gently runs his knuckles down the side of my face. The motion melts me from the inside out. "It's not that I haven't felt it. But I didn't want to scare you by saying it too soon."

"It's not too soon," I say breathlessly. 

"Really?" I feel him heave what might be a sigh of relief. "Because I've wanted to say it. Really, really wanted to tell you how very much in love with you I am. I've just been waiting for the right time."

"I think this is it." My stomach is all aflutter and I feel heat rising behind my eyes.

He brings both hands to my face and his fingers fan out across my cheeks and his touch reinforces everything I feel when I look in his eyes. His voice is breathless and full of raw honesty when he speaks. "I love you, Donna Moss."

I close my eyes and let the words sink in for a few seconds before I meet his gaze again. The tears are now balancing precariously on my lower lids, but I don't care. "I love you, too, Josh Lyman… with all of my heart." 

And with that, his arms wind all the way around me and pull me into a tight embrace. I wrap my arms around his neck the best I can in our current position and rest my cheek against his. We squeeze each other tightly, neither of us wanting to let the other one go. He's warm and safe. He really is my home.

Finally he releases me, so I reluctantly loosen my grip as well. But my disappointment lasts only the second it takes for him to thread his fingers into my hair and for his lips to find mine, because while the hugging was good, the kissing is even better. His lips are soft, yet they move against mine with heat-filled intensity. Josh and I have done a lot of kissing in the last 28 days and 2 hours, and it's been great, but this is really, really great. 

I'm not sure how much time goes by when we finally come up for air. We're both entwined in a sitting position on the living room floor, foreheads pressed together, panting from all the making out. I clear my throat before saying, "Loving me isn't making you go soft."

"It isn't?"

"No." I lean back slightly in order to meet his inquiring gaze. He always looks so cute just after we've finished making out, which makes me even more flirtatious. "All evidence to the contrary. From right here, loving me, is making you all man."

Now he's wearing a huge grin. "Okay, I'm kinda getting the whole romance of Christmas thing." 

"You are?"

"Yeah… the little, twinkling white lights and the fire. You… totally wanting me. Very romantic. Though I don't know why we had to sit on the floor."

"Once again, _you_ are the one that wants me." I kiss him quickly and then reach for my wine before turning and settling back against him so I can look out and enjoy the 'romance' of the room. "And it's nice on the floor." 

"Yes, it is." He kisses my temple. "I'm glad we came." 

"Really?" I can't keep the surprise out of my voice.

"Yes."

"And you're still going to love me after this trip?"

That makes him chuckle. "Of course."

"Even though you've had to do things like wear Muppet pajamas, go to a show about Jesus, get caught making out under the Christmas tree, chop wood and be pelted with dozens of snow balls?"

"Especially because of all those things," he whispers in my ear. His warm breath on my skin feels absolutely amazing.

"You are totally lying, but I love you even more for it."

"I mean it, Donna. Thank you for wanting to share this with me." 

"Well, I'm really glad we came, too. Thank you for being willing to share this with me." I turn slightly so I can plant a soft kiss on his jaw. "And I'm really, really glad your mom is here."

"Me, too. What a surprise, it was really nice of your family to invite her. It's… I swear, she looks happier than I've seen her look since before my dad died."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah. It's not like she's been in constant mourning or anything… but this is her, really happy."

"I'm so glad. You know they are already as thick as thieves."

"I know." I feel his body vibrate behind me as he laughs. "They're already working as a team. I swear, one of them mentions grandchildren on the hour and the other on the half hour. And what are they going to do with all those pictures they took of us?"

Uh-oh. I did something earlier. Something I haven't mentioned to Josh yet. "Speaking of the taking of the pictures, you know the picture our moms wanted of us in our Kermit and Miss Piggy pajamas?"

"Which one?" He asks with a grunt. "The one where I was behind you with my arms around you in front of the Christmas tree, or where we were side-by-side in front of the tree, or where I'm behind with arms around you in front of the fireplace, or the one where we were sitting-"

I cut him off. Honestly, there were a lot of pictures taken today. And yes, our mothers were the driving force behind most of them. "The one where you look very handsome and powerful."

"I'm sure I look handsome and powerful in all of them." 

I try to stifle my giggle. "Behind me, arms around, Christmas tree." 

"What about it?" He asks, reaching over for his wine glass. Just as the glass reaches his lips, I take it away from him. He shouldn't be holding red wine when I tell him this.

"Hey, why'd you do that? Don't start talking to me about sensitive systems, it's Christmas and I haven't-"

"I'll give it back in a minute." I set it back down on the hearth next to mine. "Earlier I might have emailed a Christmas greeting out to some of our friends."

"What? What kind of Christmas greeting?" I feel his arms tighten around me.

"The kind of Christmas greeting where I wish them a merry Christmas and happy holiday by emailing a photo of us in front of the Christmas tree." I try to sound nonchalant.

Now he's holding me even tighter, squeezing me actually. "Are you telling me that you sent photos of me wearing Kermit pajamas to our friends?"

"Maybe."

"And by maybe, you mean you sent a photo of me wearing Kermit pajamas to our friends in the white building at the corner of Pennsylvania and 15th, don't you?”

"No."

"Yes, you did."

"Yes, I did." 

"Why would you do that?" He whines. There was a time when I first started working for him that I thought I'd never get tired of his cute whine. I did. Thankfully, this relationship has given me a second wind and I now find it cute again.

"To wish them a happy holiday."

"And to humiliate me."

"Why would you be humiliated by a photo where your arms are around me? Are you embarrassed by me?" 

"Nice try. It's humiliating because Toby already thinks I'm not Jewish enough as it is; now he has a photo of me in front of the Christmas tree, celebrating Christmas."

"I really think you should worry less about what Toby thinks about your Judaism, and more about what he's going to think of you wearing flannel Kermit pajamas."

Now he squeezes me even tighter. "Ha! That was what I was worried about. And you just made my case for me!" 

Before I know what hits me, he's tickling me. He's tickling me and I can't catch my breath. His fingers run wild as I try to squirm away, but I only succeed in sliding down so I'm on my back. Like some sort of cat or panther or something, Josh moves with lightning speed and is now in front of me. When did he get so fast? 

He's on all fours and I'm flat on my back. Once I'm done with the squirming I glance up and see him staring down intently at me. He's stopped the tickling long enough for me to catch my breath and answer his question. "You at least didn't tell them the reason you're wearing Miss Piggy pajamas… did you?"

"That you're the Miss Piggy to my Kermit?" I ask breathlessly.

"I'm not. But yes."

"You are. And I did not tell them anything of the kind," I huff as if I’m upset he would think such a thing. I wonder if he could tell I just huffed, what with all the panting I'm still doing.

"You did, didn't you?"

"Just Sam."

"Donnnna." He rolls his eyes and hangs his head.

"What. He's the one who gave me the idea."

"What do you mean?" His head snaps back up to look at me.

"I mean on Thanksgiving when you made the horrid Kermit gaffe, Sam came up and said and I quote, 'He's more a Miss Piggy, then you'll ever be a Kermit.'"

"Sam said that?!" Good thing Sam's not here, Josh looks like he might strangle him right now if he were. Then, defeated, Josh hangs his head again. "This is going to haunt me for the rest of my life, isn't it?"

"Yes, it probably is," I agree sadly. Again, he's just so fun to play with. "But look on the bright side, Miss Piggy was the one who always had a crush on Kermit. Of course, Kermit always rebuffed her advances..."

Bringing his head back up so he can meet my eye, he asks, "How exactly is that the bright side?" 

"Unlike the real Miss Piggy, you caught your Kermit."

It takes a second, but now he's smiling wolfishly above me. "That is a bright side."

"Yes, I know." I study him above me. Josh. My Josh. Josh who loves me and whom I love. He's looking down at me in much the same way I'm looking up at him. "Do you ever wish you'd caught me sooner?"

He pauses and thinks for a minute before answering. "All the time. Especially before I actually caught you. But I was too stupid back then; I probably would have done something to ruin it. So I just want to celebrate the fact that we caught each other, now, when I'm smart enough to never ruin it."

I'm grinning widely up at him. "Do you want to go upstairs so we can celebrate that properly?"

I barely have time to snuff out the candles before he's pulling me up the stairs at a dead run. 

I'll take that as a yes.

The End


End file.
